


Relief

by Spannah339



Series: Mama May [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, You Have Been Warned, also angst, endgame spoilers, there are spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 17:26:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18642688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spannah339/pseuds/Spannah339
Summary: May Parker was always a mother at heart.(I honestly don't have much to say without spoilers, but if you've read the fic I wrote after Infinity War - Worry - and have seen Endgame you might have an idea of what this is about)





	Relief

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy did Endgame _wreck_ me. I have not had this much writing muse for /ages/. We'll see how much I will actually write of what I want to!

It’s strange, how quickly the world can change. One moment, the world is going as normal, and you believe it will continue to follow the path it had for the last few years forever. Then something will happen. A phone call that makes you the parent of your orphaned nephew. Soft, sobbing words that tell you you’re now a widow.

But perhaps the biggest change in May Parker’s life was the moment the whole world changed, the moment the world fell apart and society broke. The moment half the planet died. Even so, she held onto hope that her boy hadn’t. Hope that didn’t last more than a few weeks with a visit from a tired, hurt, skinny and broken Tony Stark.

Five years was a long time. A long time to mourn. A long time to miss someone. A long time to watch the world continue turning without those you love.

Five years is a blink of an eye. Far too short to piece the world back together. To give homes to those orphaned, to recover the loss of half the world. To live again.

There were two kinds of people who emerged after that fateful day - those who stopped, and those who refused to. The latter gave up, lost themselves in their grief and shock and hid inside themselves. Many of this group didn’t last the five years. They wasted away, not caring. Or worse.

May was part of the other group. She kept pushing forward, kept herself busy. She helped set up an shelter for the children who suddenly found themselves without families. She searched for those who needed help, saved people, worked and worked and worked. Because what else could she do?

Half of those she knew were dead, and with them the boy she cared about more than herself. The nephew she had seen as a son, the boy she had watched grow from a small, scared orphan to a brave, strong young man - a hero even without his powers.

She missed him - how could she not? She spent many nights, curled in bed, sobbing softly to herself. But her tears were dried the moment she left the apartment. She was strong. She kept herself together. She was a Parker, and Parkers didn’t back down. She became her own superhero, as did so many others in those five years.

Ned’s mother knocked on her door before Tony Stark had even arrived, before she had lost her last shred of hope for her missing boy. May could see her own faint glimmer of hope echoed in the other woman's eyes - the hope that _maybe_ _,_ just maybe, Ned was here. Ned was still alive.

They cried together, on May’s kitchen floor. Crying for their boys, their bright, promising boys whose lives had been cut far too short. They cried together and comforted each other and then they wiped their tears and went to work. Because there was a lot of work to do.

It became almost normal. Normal, to see the crowd of scared children ask her questions about their parents, about the dust, about why the Avengers hadn’t saved them. Normal, to see blank faces, harsh voices, tear stained eyes - hiding the grief and pain they all felt. Normal, to hear of violence in the streets, of those taking advantage of the much smaller population for their own gain. Normal, to see ships come into harbour, full of the same, dull-eyed people looking for something to show them it was okay.

But they never found what they wanted. Because no one was okay. Nothing was okay. But they just had to keep pushing, and maybe - maybe the world would become okay one day.

In many ways, good had come out of it. It was the good May tried to focus on. It was the way those that were left came together, worked to help. It was the fact that things like money or power didn’t seem to matter in the wake of such devastation. It was the way she knew she wasn’t alone in her loss. And, in a small, selfish way, that was the best part. Because when Ben had died the world had kept moving as though her whole world hadn’t just collapsed. Everything kept going and May felt like she had been out of her depth. At least here, everyone was. Everyone was grieving in some way or another.

May kept her small group of children safe and alive. She was still a mother at heart - even though she had never given birth to a child. She helped those who had no parents - again. She watched children who didn’t belong to her grow, grow strong, grow brave, grow into superheroes. Again.

But then. Something changed.

May wasn’t sure what it was, but something changed. It was almost as though hope had entered the world again after five years of being absent. She didn’t say anything, didn’t mention the sudden change. Surely it was nothing. Once again, normality had been going on for so long she couldn’t imagine it changing now.

Even so, the fact that there were rumours the Avengers were reforming gave her hope. A tiny flame of hope, flickering, burning, growing. If the Avengers thought they had a chance at changing this maybe there was reason to hope.

Then everything changed. A breath of fresh air, a soft, quiet moment and suddenly. Suddenly they were back.

Appearing in a burst of ashes, reforming from the streets and into rooms. Looking around, bewildered and confused, they returned. Every last one of those who had died five years ago.

Seven-year-old Lisa, who May had found as a tiny three-year-old trapped in the back of her parent’s car, hugged her leg, peering around at the sudden throng of people on the streets outside the orphanage. May let out a long breath, resting a hand on the child’s head, staring outside.

Peter.

The only thought that hung in her mind was of her boy. Her boy who had turned to dust, her boy who might be alive again. Surely. Surely he would come home now.

The shock lasted only a few moments before May knew she had to move. Those who returned would need help. They would need to find their lost loved ones. They would need to be told what had happened.

So, one hand clutching Lisa’s, May went to work once more. She kept the children inside, sending some of the older ones to watch the younger ones. The oldest children and the adults began to gather groups of the Returned, explaining to them what had happened, that they had been dead for five years, that they had come back. They took names, helped to find families, helped to settle them until they could find their place in the world that suddenly seemed too small for them.

And May tried not to think about why the earth shook. She tried not to see the tv reports about a spaceship over the Avengers facility. She focused on her work. Focused on helping people. On saving lives.

Lisa found her family. Clinging to May’s leg, the girl stared out at the parents she had lived more of her life without than with. Her father whispered about how big she was. Her mother thanked May between her tears. May’s heart ached for her own child.

Lisa found her family, but so many didn’t. So many children were still there when the day ended, waiting for their parents. There were more now - children who hadn’t aged at all, returning to find their parents had moved on without them. May did her best to help them find a place to sleep, taking their names and promising she would do her best to find their families.

It was late by the time she finally returned home. Part of her hadn’t wanted to, she had wanted to stay, to help her new kids feel safe. But Peter would come home. And she needed to be there for her first kid.

She tried not to let herself get too hopeful, tried to tell herself to not pin everything on getting her boy home again. What if he hadn’t found his way back from the distant planet he had found himself on? What if he had - and had lost his life in the battle that raged in the ruins of the Avengers compound?

 _But what if he comes_ home _?_ a small voice whispered. A voice she couldn’t ignore, no matter how much she tried to. No matter how much she told herself that hope was pointless.

She had barely sat when there was a knock on the door, and suddenly she was five years younger waiting to see if her boy had survived the end of the world. Her hands shook as she stood and rushed to the door, reaching for the locks, turning the handle.

For a moment, she hesitated. What if he wasn’t there? What if he was truly gone and she would never see him again? What if her faint hope had been all for nothing?

Then the door was pushed open from the outside and she stepped back and there he was, his face scratched and bruised and his eyes haunted and full of grief and shock and fear and he was still wearing his Spiderman suit and he was scratched and wounded and hurt but he was _alive_ and he was _here_ and he was -

“May!” He let out a sobbing gasp and flung himself forward, into her hands. May wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him, pulling him close, burying her face in his shoulder as he did the same, tears pricking her eyes. She clung to him, clung to him as though letting go would mean watching him fade to dust. She held him so tightly she was worried she would break him but he was here and he was alive and he was her _son_.

He was talking, nonsense escaping his mouth like he always did when he was shaken and scared. Talking about space and distant planets and how he had died and so much but she was barely listening, soaking up the euphoria of holding her boy again, of feeling his breath against her cheek, his heart beating under his suit, his warm body pressed into hers.

“A-and M-Mr. Stark he... he did it. He stopped Thanos b-but he…” and he broke down, her boy, her Peter, her son. He broke down in sobs, unable to speak, shaking in her arms. She didn’t say anything, just sank to the floor and held him, held him like she had that night, so long ago, when he had sobbed out the story of how his uncle had died. Held him as she had when he was a child and was facing trouble at school, or missed his parents or just needed her. She held him and she knew she was never going to let go of him again.

Because he was back. And he was alive. And the last five years were worth it because she got to hold her boy again.

 


End file.
